


It's Just the Rain

by PunishedPyotr



Category: Brat'ya Karamazovy | Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Бесы | Demons - Fyodor Dostoevsky
Genre: Changing Tenses, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Canon, implied Stavrogin, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: Inside you keep on lying/Inside your soul is dying/You still can’t hold back/You still can’t say goodbye





	It's Just the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> why did aireyv write this weird demons/tbk/idiot crossover like three times lol. has anyone here seen their askblog
> 
> orginal a/n:  
>  _Written in one sitting in the middle of a rainy night about a year ago. Unedited from the original._
> 
> (hmmmm...make that about three years ago now haha)

Alyosha shivered and pulled the blanket closer around him. A late autumn storm beat at the window to his room and, being also the middle of the night and relatively high in the Alps, it was cold. Staring at the dark ceiling of his borrowed room, Alyosha exhaled listlessly through parted lips, wishing (not for the first time) that he had something to smoke.

_It’s raining here, too. The room is cool and humid, mainly because Alyosha opened the window - fresh air never goes amiss when you’re smoking. And of course, this is Petersburg; the air isn’t fresh unless it’s at least drizzling._

_He glances across the room at the door. Pyotr should be back soon, or else he won’t be back at all. It’s hard to tell with that man._

Thunder rumbled, almost like a reminder to Alyosha for him to stay in the present instead of getting lost in the past - he’d seen what that can do a person, anyway. Sighing again, he sat up. _“Pyotr Stepanovitch?” The word comes out of his mouth, silent as it always is in a memory, but it’s no use._

There was no point to looking out the window; there was only black out there, and dripping down the glass, streams of slightly lighter black. He hadn’t been paying attention and had missed the last strike of lightning; as such, he didn’t know how far away the storm was.

_Pyotr is already dressing with practiced speed, already leaving the room, already shutting the door carelessly behind him, leaving Alyosha sitting alone again. A glimmer of light from somewhere else traces patterns through the rain on his bare skin._

Lightning flashed again, and Alyosha jumped - not because the room was thrown into sudden harsh relief, but because of the figure briefly outlined at the doorway. Alyosha swallowed hard, wondering how long he had been standing there. “Come in,” he said after half a moment, “as you can see, I’m awake.”

“Sorry,” the figure at the doorway said, and Alyosha instantly recognized his voice.

“I wasn’t awake because of you, Lyev Nikolaevitch,” Alyosha said warmly, “I only just noticed you standing there. But what are you doing up?”

“Well, it’s storming.” His voice was closer now. Alyosha wondered if he always moved that quietly, or if the sound of the wind and the rain had just drowned out his footsteps. It surely masked their conversation from anyone in the adjacent rooms.

“I didn’t know you were particularly afraid of storms.”

“I’m not,” Myshkin said (Alyosha imagined that he smiled when he said this), “but I am cold.”

_“You wouldn’t be so cold if you didn’t jump up every time I try to hold you,” Alyosha says._

_“Don’t,” Pyotr snaps, “I told you. It’s - strange. I don’t like it.”  
_

_“You certainly didn’t have any issues with being touched about ten minutes ago.”_

_“That was different, Alexey Fyodorovitch.”  
_

“I’m a little cold too, Lyev Nikolaevitch,” Alyosha said lightly, reaching a hand out towards where he presumed Myshkin was standing. A second later, he felt Myshkin’s hand in his, and he pulled him onto the bed.

_“Verkhovensky- what the hell are you doing? Get off of me! Stop-”_

“You don’t mind if I sleep with you tonight?” Myshkin said as Alyosha pulled the blanket over him.

Alyosha was glad that it was too dark for Myshkin to see how he blushed. He really wished that he could control that. “Of course I don’t mind,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately even, “in fact, since we’re in my bed, not yours, you can stay until morning if you like.”

“Really?”

Absently, he passed a hand over Myshkin’s hair. It always surprised him how soft it was. “Of course. Just be sure to tell whichever nurse finds us that you came here on your own-”

“I did.”

“-and that I was asleep when you got into bed with me, and I never woke up.”

“You didn’t,” Myshkin whispered conspiratorially. _Pyotr sticks his head out of the doorway, looks right and then left, then shuts the door and leans against it, looking solemnly at Alyosha. Alyosha shifts uncomfortably and glances at Kolya, who gives him a nervous grin. They both know what they’re about to be asked._

“I’m serious, Lyev Nikolaevitch. I could get in a lot of trouble if…”

“I know, Alyosha.” He could almost hear Myshkin’s smile lighting up the night. “They’d make you leave if they thought we were… what did you say again? Nevermind, I just don’t want you to get in trouble. I’d be alone again,” he said, then paused to pull himself a little closer to Alyosha, and murmured, “I’ve been alone far too long,” _Pyotr pants, clinging to Alyosha desperately, shaking. Uncertainly, Alyosha runs the palms of his hands over the unnerving texture of Pyotr’s scars, eliciting a whine. He curls his fingers, digging his nails into skin, and random syllables stream forth from Pyotr’s dry, cracked lips; the syllables sort themselves out into two different names, Alyosha’s and that of one who left those scars, repeated freely, mixing together in the same touch like it’s really the owners of the name who belong together now, not the broken man shared between them._

“Alyosha? Alyosha…?” It took him a moment to realize it was another broken man who was whispering his name. “Is something wrong?”

“What?”

“You seem like you’re thinking about something.”

Alyosha laughed softly. “Sorry,” he said, “the rain… has put me in an odd mood, Lyev Nikolaevitch.” He ran his hand through Myshkin’s hair again, lightly scratching his scalp, and Myshkin sighed appreciatively, tilting his head up into Alyosha’s touch. “…you actually like that?”

_“No, I don’t. I’m not a dog, Karamazov. Stop petting me.”_

_Alyosha smiles dryly. “I don’t know,” he says, still threading his hair with his fingers. It’s short, much shorter than Alyosha’s, and dark, although he knows it’s dyed, probably so Pyotr won’t be recognized. “You seem pretty dog-like to me.”_

_Pyotr scoffs, rolls over and gives Alyosha a you’re-in-bed-with-me-aren’t-you look. “What does that make you, then?”_

_“Hmm,” Alyosha says with playful mock consideration, “another dog, I suppose.” He leans over Pyotr, faces close enough that their breaths intermingle. “One who always knows when his bitch is in heat.”_

“Why wouldn’t I?” Myshkin said innocently.

“…no reason,” Alyosha said, pushing the thought away. He gave Myshkin a quick kiss, hoping to distract him from his previous observation, and in the process finding the old adage of ‘Lovers can find each other’s lips in the dark’ to be true.

There was another flash of lighting. It was just fast enough for Alyosha to see the look of unadorned adoration on Myshkin’s face. _That look has no place on Pyotr’s face - not dictatorial, reckless Pyotr._ It felt like a kick in the gut. _Of course, it’s not for Alyosha._

“…I’m sorry,” Alyosha muttered although his words were swallowed by the thunder, and looked away even though everything was all the same in this darkness.

“So who were you thinking about?” Myshkin asked at length, once again with all due innocence.

Alyosha considered for a second taking the defensive route and asking what, exactly, made Myshkin think that Alyosha was thinking about a person, but instead he said, “Just somebody that I used to know… a long time ago, back in Russia…” _The door slams. It would be an innocuous sound if the room behind it weren’t filling with smoke - Lise’s handiwork._ “It’s better if we don’t talk about him.” _He’s already dead._

“Oh,” Myshkin said mildly, “of course.”

_Pyotr’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “’Of course,’ Karamazov? Were you listening to me?”_

_“Yes, yes,” Alyosha says absently, turning the gun over his hands. “Assassinate the Tsar. I know what I just agreed to.”  
_

_“And you know, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that if you’re caught…”  
_

_“I’ll be martyred.” He knows from Ivan that at times like this, when he says things like that, his face is pale and his smile is twisted.  
_

Alyosha sighed. “I’ll tell you one day,” he promised, “I’ll tell you everything about my past - about what I did…”

“I’m… I’m not sure I want to know,” Myshkin said so softly that he was almost drowned out by the sound of the raindrops alone.

“You’ll need to,” Alyosha said, pressing his forehead against Myshkin’s shoulder. “You’ll need to understand.”

There was a slight pressure as Myshkin rested his chin on the top of Alyosha’s head. “Alyosha…” he mumbled, “I love you.” _Alyosha never says it to Pyotr. Partly because he hates him, too, and mostly because he really just pities him. Except it’s a libidinous type of pity, the kind of lust that only exists because it can be satisfied so easily._

“I…” Alyosha trailed off, his mouth feeling very dry, and wrapped his free arm around Myshkin’s waist. He wondered if it wasn’t the same kind of attraction here. “Lyev Nikolaevitch, I can’t ever go home.”

_“Has it stopped raining yet?”_

_“Can’t you look out the window yourself?”  
_

“I don’t think I can either, Alyosha.”

_The thunder rolls._

**Author's Note:**

> any and all comments will be forewarded to aireyv! i will either copy/paste their reply to me or they will reply on their own account! have a nice day!!! if you have any questions, just ask!!!!


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